It disturbs me that so many writers commit acts of ignorance and misconduct. I store up these errors until an overabundance of them goads me to fulmination. To fulminate, says the Webster crowd, is to “send forth censures or invective.” In an uncharacteristic display of economy, writers of today save five letters by using the word “rant,” which Webster calls “bombastic, extravagant speech.”
It infuriates me beyond endurance to hear advertising hucksters claim that a product protects you against its failure by giving you a “warrantee.” It does no such thing; it may give you a guarantee; it may give you a warranty (emphasis on the first syllable); but there is no such thing as a warrantee (emphasis on the final syllable).
This dimwitted determination to destroy our mother tongue leads writers of second-rate television commercials to threaten you with the prospect of having your wages “garnished.” Unless creditors intend to adorn your paycheck with a sprig of parsley or a basil leaf, they should not say that. Non-payment of your debts can result in your wages being garnisheed, pronounced just as it looks, or to a garnishment but not to a garnish.
Continuing to fulminate, I offer advice to would-be spellers: if you lose your wallet at the movies, you have spelled “lose” correctly. It is not “loose.” You can have loose morals or you can loose your pit bull on careless writers, but you may not “loose” your billfold.
Scary experiences cause anxiety and are often called “nerve-wracking.” That’s a poor word to describe how you feel when your power fails on Egg Bowl day. The right word is “nerve-racking,” a reference to the medieval torture device. The invented word “wracking” was the work of persons who wished to use the word “wreak” (as in “wreak havoc”) but couldn’t spell it.
And to bring this section to a merciful close, please do not tell anyone that you “graduated high school.” Or college. If your college catches you announcing that you graduated it, the school should repossess your degree.
Well, one more thing. Pray tell me why it is acceptable to write that you ordered a “couple beers” instead of a “couple of beers.” Better yet, you could quantify matters by ordering two Michelob Ultras. You should no more order a “couple beers” than you should say that you are wearing a “pair shoes.”
Omitting the preposition “of” could have caused Grantland Rice to describe that 1924 Notre Dame backfield as the “Quartet Horsemen” or Alexandre Dumas to speak of a “Trio Musketeers.” The missing “of” sets my hair afire. Or would, if I had any left.
Finally, let’s look at some words that are deceitful by design. You’ve seen those dreadful commercials that flood from your flat screen yowling that improvements can be made make to your Medicare insurance coverage. Like communications from a political party, they do not always speak the truth. Some examples:
“You might qualify for a plan that includes transportation to your doctor appointments.” The operative word is “might” which is not a guarantee that you will. You might flap your wings and fly to Tupelo, but don’t count on it.
“You could be eligible for a plan that could add dollars to your Social Security check every month.” The word “could” is also conditional. You may be eligible but don’t order that new BMW.
I once wrote advertising copy, and we in the ad agency business called words such as may, might, and could “weasel” words, words implying something “could” or “might” happen but giving no guarantee.
Weasel wording takes many forms. You can say, “Only Acme Pharmaceuticals makes Uncle Dudley’s Immunized Liver Pills,” but you haven’t really said anything. The chance of another laxative firm producing an exact duplicate of Uncle Dudley’s pills is nonexistent. A weasel phrase.
Or how about, “Bloomingdale’s. It’s like no other store in the world.” That was a real advertising line from years back, and it told the truth. But the truth in this instance hardly did anything to aid the consumer, did it?
That’s it for today. Be sure to spray your manuscripts with Uncle Dudley’s new All-natural Weasel Repellant. You’ll be glad you did. Or at least you could be.
William Jeanes lives in Dinsmor.
